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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460439">grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_starlight71/pseuds/ms_starlight71'>ms_starlight71</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The X-Files</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abduction Arc (X-Files), Angst, Bisexual Dana Scully, Episode: s03e06 2Shy, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Panic Attacks, Post-Cancer Arc (X-Files)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:47:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_starlight71/pseuds/ms_starlight71</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Scully goes in for a routine pap smear sometime post-cancer arc and has a panic attack/flashback related to her abduction.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fox Mulder &amp; Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is actually based on some personal writing I did related to lots of medical trauma from my chronic pain being ignored. It's one of the first things that attracted me to Scully's character - that she could understand what I was experiencing. There was a lot of comfort in that at a time when I needed it most.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>You’re safe here. Nothing can harm you. You’re safe here. Nothing can harm you.</i>
</p><p>She repeats the mantra to herself over and over again. The weight of her hand, steady on her chest. </p><p>Heartbeat. Inhale. Heartbeat. Exhale. Heartbeat. Inhale. Heartbeat. Exhale. </p><p>Her surroundings spin around her like the whirring of a fan. Silky sheets beneath her bare legs. Sticky sweat pooling just under her breasts. Soft fluttering of a large T-shirt against her skin. Salty liquid streaming down her flushed cheeks. Legs pulled tight towards her chest. </p><p>The clinician in her knows that the lack of sensation in her limbs is way to guard her internal organs. Protect that which keeps her imbued with life. </p><p>A flicker of light beneath her eyelids. </p><p>She remembers. </p><p>Bare white walls. The harsh glow of fluorescent lights. A dull hum hanging in the air. The deep and probing coldness of something entering her body. The air tight in her throat as she went to speak. The look of disapproval, of superiority on the man’s face. She’d seen that same one on Daniel when she reiterated that she would not pursue cardiology, on her father when she announced that she was joining the FBI, on that detective in Cleveland when he assumed she was an assistant. </p><p>The exposure of lying there, naked. Legs open and vulnerable. The laughter, the dismissal at her questions. That the pain must all be in her head. </p><p>
  <i>Remember who you are. Remember you are the only one who lives in your body. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Remember. Remember. Remember.</i>
</p><p>That’s the problem isn’t? Everyone wants her to remember.</p><p>She does so much remembering, she wonders if her whole life will be unending longing. Grasping for air. For the stern kindness of her father’s gaze. The smell of Missy’s perfume. The rush of adrenaline at her first puff of a cigarette. The sweetness of a woman’s full lips on hers. The addicting allure of chasing an orgasm. Transfixed by the knowledge of what her body can draw out of another. </p><p>She takes another breath. Using the heel of her hand as external stimuli to alert her body awake, the pads of her fingers to soothe the area. </p><p>There’s a solid warmth against her back. The even exhale of air flutters the loose curls at her shoulders. The wide indentations of his chest. Like a dance teacher pulling at the top of her head to straighten her spine. Her chin, the last to lift. As it allows her ribs to expand, to make room. To take up the space she deserves. </p><p>His large nose prods the alcove behind her earlobe, like a friend in the wings nudging her onto the stage. A gentle hand cradles her abdomen. Makes small circles around the faint surgical scars that littered her hipbones soon after she returned. </p><p>The warmth of the intimacy lulls her. Soothes her battered soul. </p><p><i>Finally,</i> she thinks, <i>finally the kind of touch I am not afraid of.</i></p>
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